Category: legalism | Page 18 | Spiritual Abuse Blogs

Grace And Works

What can we ever do that will be considered good enough for an almighty, righteous, holy God? We’re human, He’s God. We’re born in sin and shapen in iniquity, He’s the creator of all things. Will skirts or long hair or a lack of jewelry ever be sufficient?

I know the standard answer in churches I’ve been to has been that we do those things because we love Him, not to be saved. Yet if a person doesn’t do those things, are they considered saved? The answer to that is generally “by their fruits you shall know them.” What fruits? The Bible nowhere mentions clothes or hair as fruits. The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, goodness, kindness, gentleness, meekness. And thorns are definitely not cut hair, pants and makeup. Attitudes can get prickly, but the way we dress doesn’t hurt others any time we get near them. If your imagination immediately jumped to a hooker or stripper and the way she dresses, and you thought, yes, the way they dress can hurt us, I’ll remind you that the way that person dresses doesn’t hurt you unless you have a fault that keeps you from fleeing that situation or leads you to lust. But lying, backbiting and slander can hurt a person even if they haven’t done anything wrong.

Thinking about all of this last night I realized that when we do certain things to try to be saved or look down on others as unsaved if they don’t do them, we place ourselves in a very dangerous situation: we lift ourselves up on an equal with God. God is holy and righteous. Our righteousness, the very best we can do, is as filthy rags to Him. No matter how “good” we try to be, we still fall short, because He knows our hearts. He knows the greed or pride that motivates, even if it’s just a tiny bit of our motivation.

That doesn’t mean that we should stop doing the right things or stop being good. But being good is not a list of rules and dress codes, it’s a mindset. It’s a matter of a right heart and a clean conscience. And it doesn’t involve judging others for the ways we think they might not measure up to us.

What is good? Jesus himself asked a man why he called him good, since there’s none good but God. And what should we do, if Christianity isn’t about being good? Well, when we live in Jesus, and He lives in us, won’t His goodness shine through us? But what is His goodness? It’s not dress standards, it’s love. Compassion, mercy, gentleness… grace. Those are the things we should focus on, not externals. Anyone can dress a certain way, but true fruit- love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, meekness- who can imitate those for any length of time? Who can even live like that most of the time?

If those Christian attitudes are more difficult to display than long sleeves, shouldn’t they be the focus? And if we know we can’t produce those fruits in our lives consistently on our own, then can we take pride in living that way? Absolutely not. Because living with love, joy, peace, patience… having those in our lives takes something more than a credit card and the right clothes in the closet. It takes Christ.

Just Couldn’t Stay Part 4

Continued from Part Three.

I stopped everything. Pants, cutting my hair, make up, movies, music, friends, sometimes sex with the DH, being best friends with my DH, happiness, peace of mind and you can insert just about anything else and I stopped it. I got baptized to satisfy my mother and stop listening to her go on and on about it. I was okay with it, I had no problems. I was so caught up with this organization I didn’t even notice. I want to say I was so caught up in Jesus that I didn’t notice. Honestly I don’t know.

When I reflect on it now it seems like such a whirlwind. I know I loved God and was wanting to do it all for him, however I can’t lie and say I didn’t want to be a part of what I thought was going to save me. Being Apostolic Pentecostal was everything. We were not Christians, we were Apostolic for the mere word Christian was not good enough for us. That would put us in the category as everybody else. And we alone where the bride of Christ no one else was. They were not our brothers and sisters, atheists were more tolerated than non-oneness Pentecostals.

I remember after my second child was born praying for a new set of tongues because I wanted to hear an actual language. I prayed and fasted a very long time for this. I couldn’t stand the thought of going to Hell. Tongues was the Holy Ghost and without it you were not saved. Did I ever get it? I don’t really want to answer that question. I am still sorting out tongues. I believe whatever I do in prayer is real because it comes from my heart. I also believe in tongues because the bible talks about it, however the beliefs I once had about them is what I am sorting out. That was vulnerable to write to say the least. It was a lot keeping up the separated from everybody in the whole wide world doctrine and make sure I pray in tongues every day or loss of salvation.

I had a powerful moment with God during this time. Once in prayer I remember Him telling me I came to HIM thinking he was mad at me all the time, because that is what I always knew. That had to be God for no one else knew what I went through in prayer. I constantly started out my prayers with repenting and not always getting anywhere because I thought he only tolerated me, not loved me. I got in on a package deal, this whole salvation thing. He died for everybody else and I was given the crumbs. I wasn’t important in church. I didn’t hold a position in church in my early years, so that meant God felt the same way about me as everybody else did, a second-class Christian.

Then something happened, that got me to start thinking about a lot of things. I went through a couple of pastoral changes. The thing is every one of them believed different things. They all held to the three step plan, but the last pastor added on a lot you had to do to be saved. He was WPF and oh brother that is when it all hit the fan for me.

To be continued… [Note: Unfortunately it never was finished.]

Just Couldn’t Stay Part 2

Continued from Part One.

It wasn’t just one thing that made me decide to leave as I mentioned yesterday, it was a compilation of many.

Alright back story time. I grew up in a ‘holiness’ church. Translation: any and everything will result in loss of salvation and send you to Hell. Things like fish net pantyhose, men with no ties on their shirts, crossing your legs in church for women, and popping your fingers because that is what the worldly people did to worldly music. Literally any and everything was a sin. Sin too many times and God would get tired of you and you would be “turned over to the devil.” All hope was lost at that point. You could have very well been bff’s with the Anti-Christ at that point. The list could go on and on.

Growing up my mother wouldn’t even participate in just everyday conversations at times because that would result in loss of salvation. I remember one time she yelled out in fear and anger “I’m not worried about those people I’m just trying to stay saved.” The reason for the outburst, my dad had just asked her if she remembered an old friend.

The deal is this ‘holiness’ group was not Apostolic Pentecostal aka Oneness Pentecostals. They were/are Trinitarians and believed in Matthew 28:19 literally. However, they were saved and we believed we were too at that time. They spoke in tongues, prophesied, danced in the Spirit, dressed and looked the part of UPC standards and obeyed the pastors every word.

We left that church for a time and started attending an United Pentecostal church across town, you know those Jesus only people. They did all the exact same things we did at our old church except for the “3 step salvation part.” I was only six at the time but I adored that little church. We didn’t stay there long though and I never knew why. So off we marched back to the Trinitarian holiness church.

For the most part that was my religious upbringing. The upbringing of fire and brimstone, blink twice and burn in hell, “God ain’t playing with y’all,” once saved barely saved, doubt your salvation every second of the day upbringing. How did I cope with it at the tender age of two till I could escape, suffer through a lot of psychology damage? It wasn’t until later in life I realized how catastrophic my view of God was.

When I was fifteen we decided to leave that church and organization for good. We visited another little UPC church in our town. They quickly let us know we had not been in the “truth.”

To be continued.

Breaking Pentecostal

I confess to knowing little about the Amish, but recently I watched the television series “Breaking Amish” with mouth wide open wonder. It is a reality show about young Amish and Mennonite people with one Mother thrown in. These young people have decided to go “English” as they call it. It means they will be throwing off their entire outer garb that declares them to the world to be in a religious sect. Off they go to New York City to “fit in” at last. But they can’t. After having been taught all of their lives the do’s and don’ts of their religion, some go completely wild, others shed their “look” but seem to hold onto certain beliefs, and Mom, well, she tries it all, but couldn’t make the switch.

Throughout the show, scenes are preceded by random Bible verses that the producers feel apply to the next scene. This series, these characters, and these scriptures taken out of context and made to apply to whatever they think it fits, reminded me of my time in the United Pentecostal Church. The religion portrayed here had no more to do with the teachings of Jesus than any other Bible based religion of rules and regulations. It was all about a group of people being controlled by a set of rules the leaders deemed necessary to control where they live, how they look, and what they can do.

It was tragic to watch as one young man went out and nearly ruined his life trying to live on the outside, then going back in to stay out of trouble, but then ultimately going back out because he has now become a misfit. The young couple on the show seems to successfully make a transition to “English” life. They throw off the outer garb, give up the horse and buggy, and drive a pickup truck but when push comes to shove, they revert back to the same old beliefs and expect others to live by them too. The Mom goes back to her husband to live in the community, despite the fact that she knows she will never be accepted by them again. She will also be expected to have nothing to do with her own “English” children.

Sadly, in my UPC, I saw all of these characters play out – those who go in and out, miserable in, miserable out, all the while their life never having purpose. There are those who leave but still hold on to the idea that they know “the truth” yet pick and choose which part they hold to and expect others to hold on to same. Then, there are those who stay despite the pull of the outside world because of fear. An unhealthy fear of God (He will get you), fear of the leaders and fellow members opinion, or because it appeases their family; no matter how wrong they know it is. When you are a member of a mind control group, if you stay or if you leave, your life will never be the same.

I am eternally thankful that I was able to make a clean break and no, it has not been easy. Sometimes it feels like I have clawed and scratched out every inch of the way. I got in as a young girl with only one of those taken out of context scriptures pounded into my mind by my grandma; so I was virgin soil in which to plant their brand of mind controlling, cookie cutter look, you better stay in line dogma.

I have learned since leaving what matters most:

Those of you who try to be put right with God by obeying the Law have cut yourselves off from Christ. You are outside God’s grace. As for us, our hope is that God will put us right with him; and this is what we wait for by the power of God’s Spirit working through our faith. For when we are in union with Christ Jesus, neither circumcision nor the lack of it makes any difference at all; what matters is faith that works through love. Galatians 5:4-6 GNT

Why my parents aren’t villains

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on January 17, 2015.

The morning I moved out, I texted my research professor who was helping me leave that my parents weren’t letting me take the heirloom violin, but left me an old laundry basket, a case of canned green beans, and a pot they didn’t like.

She replied, “That sounds like Harry’s birthday presents from the Dursleys.” Yep. The crazy relatives who made Harry Potter live in the cupboard under the stairs.

Sometimes my parents act like the Dursleys. Or even Miss Minchin in A Little Princess. It’s easy to compare my parents to fairy tale bad guys. And even helpful sometimes in predicting their behavior.

But villainizing anyone denies the psychological complexity at work.

My parents are more like the mature antagonists in classical literature. They’re more similar to Javert in Les Miserables, whose sense of justice and punishment for lawbreakers overrides any compassion, rendering him incapable of giving or accepting mercy.

And the pastor who said honoring my parents as an adult meant absolute obedience isn’t a villain either.

Sometimes I feel like fundamentalism was like living in Wise Blood, one of Flannery O’Connor’s Southern Gothic novels. The story is riddled with variations of extreme street preachers proclaiming damnation, but unable to uphold their own rigid moral standards.

My parents paid tuition for the A Beka Academy video curriculum, which was more than other families at our church could afford and made sure I graduated with an accredited high school diploma so I didn’t have to take the GED like my other homeschooled friends.

In 3rd grade when I was diagnosed with ADHD and prescribed Ritalin and a depressant, my mom saw how unbalanced I was. She told the doctors she’d make our home quiet so I could focus. She copied my long division problems lengthwise on lined notebook paper so I’d keep the columns straight.

My parents noticed I wasn’t on the growth percentile charts at the pediatrician’s office. They appealed for insurance coverage for my growth hormone replacement therapy when I was 12 to 16. Female growth plates between bones fuse around menarche, so my parents worked with my endocrinologist for an experimental combined treatment that delayed puberty and gave me more growing time.

My dad was even going to sell our more expensive car to afford a year of treatment without insurance.

If not for the daily Nutropin and monthly Lupron injections, today I’d be a real-life dwarf. I wouldn’t be able to drive a regular car or reach dishes in kitchen cabinets.

And they did pay for my first three years of college. My dad always said he wanted to give me “every advantage in life.”

I know deep down my parents love me.

Even if they don’t believe I am an adult yet. Even if they try to control what I believe and what I do.

Their beliefs dictate that they should shun me because I don’t measure up to what they think God wants.

Back in high school, the pastor at my last church talked me through why the King James Version isn’t an inspired translation or the only valid Bible to read. It was one of the first conversations that helped me to recognize the fear and control inherent in legalism.

And now he too believes I should be ostracized.

The summer I moved out, I borrowed the graphic novel Watchmen from my punk friend Kat. It’s about the second generation of a group of superheros blended into American history. But the first generation wasn’t as perfect as the press advertised.

“Who watches the Watchmen?” the book asks over and over. Who makes sure the good guys don’t become bad guys? What happens when authority is corrupted?

And (SPOILER) at the end the “villain” is one of their own. Disaster is sort of averted, they save the planet, but there is no real hero, either. Life just continues.

It’s not black and white.

Like Cynthia Jeub wrote, of course it wasn’t all bad.

My parents did many good things. And many hurtful things. I’m not obligated to give into their demands, I don’t have to lose my freedom. The bad doesn’t void the good and the good doesn’t cancel out the bad.

But if I don’t recognize their human complexity, then I am refusing to see the raw reality. And I will blind myself from the truth.